


Marriage of Necessity

by madeofmydreams



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Dubious Consent, F/F, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Just to be completely clear there is one nonconsensual kiss, Much of this story is non-consensual but the sex after the fade to black at the end is consensual, and some nonconsensual life decisions, it is a little heavy but ends happily, not historically accurate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27693551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeofmydreams/pseuds/madeofmydreams
Summary: This is a story about how Aziraphale never really felt wanted until she did.#When the only thing that can keep her people safe is to marry Lord Hastur, Aziraphale goes along with the plan, but that doesn’t mean she’s happy about it.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19
Collections: Ineffable Wives Exchange 2020





	Marriage of Necessity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blue_Sparkle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Sparkle/gifts).



> Beta'd by @jamgrl without whom I would never have accomplished half this much. Thank you~!
> 
> This fic is set roughly at the fall of Rome in a vague sort of nebulous point of the edge of the roman empire that doesn’t in fact exist. It’s been over a decade since I studied Medieval history so take this story with about a hundred grains of salt and don’t reference it for any kind of course work.
> 
> This is written as a gift for Blue_Sparkle. I hope you enjoy~! <3

Aziraphale was sitting in the library on a pillow close to the window so that she could catch the sun’s light on her scroll and save her allotted candles for later. The room was drafty despite the rich tapestries hanging on the walls and shelves of books but she was fully dressed in her warmest tunic as well as a stola and thus she was content to engage herself in study until called for. 

The scroll she was reading contained a history of Emperor Domitian and it had taken her ages to track it down. She found herself drawn to the rare and forbidden. The harder she worked for her gems the more she delighted in them; they had to be kept under wraps though, it wouldn’t do to be caught with unfavorable material. 

When there was still several hours until dinner, her mother strode into the room and Aziraphale hastily stood and curtsied. “Mama,” she said. 

“Sit, child.” Her mother said, though she herself remained standing. 

Aziraphale sat gracefully and wondered at the stoney look in her mother’s eye. She tried to remember if she’d forgotten any of her duties lately or been caught out “foraging”. She’d made a friend, she wasn’t anyone of Aziraphale’s class but she was certain they hadn’t been discovered. Crowley didn’t even know who she was.

“The barbarians continue to encroach on our lands, my child, it is becoming unsafe.” 

“Have you heard something from Romulus Agustulus, Mama?”

“He has no soldiers to send us.”

Aziraphale worried her hands. “Will we need to fight ourselves?” she asked. The castle was defensible of course, and her father, being the strange man that he was had trained her in swordsmanship despite her sex. 

“We cannot afford it. Not with winter on it’s way. I need everyone in the fields.”

“What is to be done without soldiers or taking up arms ourselves?” Aziraphale asked.

If anything her mother’s face grew more stern. “An alliance,” she said, “through marriage.”

Aziraphale felt a chill that had nothing to do with the drafty room sink into her bones. “Who?” she whispered. 

“It must be you, my child.” Her mother replied. 

Aziraphale wanted to imagine there was pain in her tone. 

“You intend to sell me off for a bit of extra time to bring in the harvest?” Aziraphale lashed out with her tone though not in her body language. 

“It is a mutually beneficial arrangement, Child.” her mother said. “Lord Hastur is strong and will be able to protect you.”

“He is a barbarian. He will take me against my will and raise our children to be illiterate!”

Her mother looked to the heavens as if in prayer. “They will come for you soon,” she said. “It is their custom to take the bride unawares so carry what possessions you wish to keep on your person.” 

“Mama.”

Her mother tugged her into a brusque embrace before exiting the room in her familiar measured gate. 

Aziraphale tried to re-invest herself in her reading but it was of no use. She knew she’d get married at some point but that point always seemed like some distant future that would never materialise. She didn’t want to be married to a barbarian no matter how high ranking he was. She would be expected to lay with him and produce heirs. The thought was heinous. It could not be born. 

Her thoughts spun round and round touching back to her new friend regularly. Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure why Crowley was so important. She’d only just met the woman and the best she might hope for in a friendship was to take her as a lady’s maid once she was married. It was very likely even that wouldn’t be allowed as Crowley wasn’t the daughter of a Roman citizen. 

Surely she would miss Mammy with more intensity and certainly she would miss this very library. Did barbarians even keep libraries? She found herself determined to escape the town’s center and seek out Crowley the next day. She had to explain, even if that would mean revealing her station. She needed to be able to say goodbye. 

When she was called for the evening meal she rose and joined her family. Her parents discussed grain storage and the upcoming autumn festival. Her father boasted about his new steed and the ground they’d covered in training that day. “You should join me tomorrow, Aziraphale, we’ll train some more with your sword and you will be our eyes and ears from the inside. You’ll be able to intimidate them and they’ll think again about encroaching further.”

Aziraphale couldn’t have told you how she responded even moments after the interaction. She was caught in between her own thoughts and the prattle at the table. Her sisters spoke only of the fabric they had commissioned and her brothers were away leading scouting missions. Even surrounded by her family she felt alone. She longed for the rocky creek bank where Crowley went to wash clothing. Where she went to read and share some of the words aloud with her friend. Crowley would look at her, auburn hair trailing over her shoulder, glistening crimson in the sunlight. 

She picked at her food, moving it about on her plate. Even the desert did not please her. It tasted dry, like sand in her mouth. She escaped the table as soon as possible, excusing herself to her parents. Her father waved her off while her mother said, “of course” in the tone of voice that always made her feel deficient. 

That night she wept quietly in her bed so that her sisters would not hear her and comment. 

#

They weren’t making it easy exactly, but Aziraphale had been given jobs to do on the edges of their lands since her mother had spoken to her three days previously. Today she foraged for mushrooms. She had her three most difficult to procure books along with a change of clothing strapped to her shoulders and she carried a large basket in the crook of her arm. She selected the prettiest mushrooms with her belt knife. Normally she would be daydreaming about the magnificent soups they would make but today she viewed each mushroom with an absent sort of detachment. 

She still hadn’t seen Crowley though she’d looked each day. This morning she visited the creek first before striking further into the trees, but her friend wasn’t there. She would stop again on her way home. She ached somewhere deep within her rib cage. She’d made all of her other goodbyes but none of them seemed as important as this one. 

She scrambled over fallen logs and around brambles with ease. Her boots kept her feet warm and really this would be a pleasant activity had she more enjoyable thoughts to accompany her. She was alone though. She felt like the only sane member of her family and yet. If she were her mother and could guarantee peace by giving one person in marriage to a barbarian… maybe? Aziraphale knew she would do her part to keep her people safe, to make sure that Crowley could wash clothing in the stream without fear. She did not, however, have to like it. 

She heard some rustling in the underbrush and froze, her knife gripped in her hand. A red squirrel darted across the clearing and up a tree. Aziraphale let out a sigh. She was entirely too jumpy. She knelt down to harvest some more mushrooms when someone grabbed her from behind. 

The assailant disarmed her knife and wrestled her arms behind her back. Before she was able to regain her footing a hand closed around her nose and some liquid was poured down her throat. She sputtered and coughed as it burned her mouth and nose. 

“Was that entirely necessary?” She asked, trembling. 

The question was met with a shove. She stumbled forward and then she was being picked up and slung across someone’s shoulders like a lamb. 

“By Diana,” Aziraphale swore, “you knew I was to come with you. You needn’t have made it such a painful experience.” 

“Stint thy clappe, Princess.” The man carrying her said before continuing to walk and mutter in language she did not understand. 

After walking for sometime they arrived at a group of barbarians. Aziraphale felt quite dizzy; she was, however, able to maintain her seat astride a horse without assistance. They rode out much of the rest of the day stopping briefly to sup. Her assailant, a dark skinned man whom the others in the group referred to as Ligur, had the presence of mind to bring along her mushrooms and they were able to enjoy them with the dried venison and bread the barbarians had brought with them. 

They continued traveling even as night fell. Aziraphale was tired. Her thighs and back ached from riding and she was beginning to nod off despite the thrum of concern humming in her veins. 

The mare she rode picked its way through the forest after Ligur's dappled grey gelding. They rode on a sort of game trail by the light of a full moon. Aziraphale had heard stories of what barbarians got up to when the moon was full; stories of running naked through the night while howling at the moon like wolves, women sacrificing their children, and great monsters walking in their midst pretending to be human. She closed her eyes and prayed to the gods that these were just rumors. 

Finally they came to a clearing and Aziraphale looked around as she felt her mare slow though she couldn’t distinguish much among the trees. Four women and two children manifested from the surrounding foliage and encircled her. She was helped from the mare and then clucked over as if she were a lost duckling. Aziraphale couldn’t parse the language used but she understood fully the tones as her clothing was evaluated and found wanting. 

The women whisked her away and she found herself in a kind of tent and stripped bare of her clothing. She shivered and tried to hid her sex much to the amusement of those present. They redressed her in a cream colored linen tunic and then a richly dyed, wool skirt of deep blue that brushed the ground. They wrapped a fur trimmed cloak around her shoulders and clad her feet in fur lined slippers. One of the children presented her with a golden circle and when she turned it over in her hands trying to determine its use a gale of laughter pealed through women around her. One of them batted her hands away and placed it around her neck. 

Aziraphale’s hair was combed and braided and then wrapped around her head like a crown. Finally she was admired; this too was easy enough to interpret and she closed her eyes breathing deeply as coos and pride filled babbling washed over her. She felt like a plucked chicken roasted on a spit and arranged on a platter.

She was escorted from the tent. The children danced around her darting in between the women and in the distance male voices took up a song. It rang through the trees and slithered up her spine pricking tears in the corners of her eyes. They arrived back at the clearing to a roaring fire. Next to it’s flickering orange flames stood the most hideous man Aziraphale had ever seen. His pale waxy skin seemed smudged with ashes and his locks looked as if they had been hacked off with a sword. The tears in the corners of her eyes fell silently in cool tracks down her face as she became more and more certain that this man was to be her husband. 

The fire crackled, its heat beckoning her and out of it slid the most magnificent snake Aziraphale had ever seen. Its scales were an iridescent black aside from the crimson stripe on its belly. It was larger even than the man and Aziraphale reached out as though to touch it, not thinking of propriety or even her own self preservation. She couldn't look away and felt something like a glimmer of calm settle deep under her skin.

The snake twisted and rippled and then transformed into a tall, slender woman dressed in black with crimson hair tumbling down her back. She couldn’t be, and yet, she looked just like- She spoke in the same strange language as all those around her. Aziraphale was befuddled, Crowley was one of her people she was certain, and yet here a woman was, both Crowley and something completely other. She stared into the woman’s eyes and thought that if she was to cling to any one thing it would be the hypnotic, gift in front of her in all of its dark and golden glory. 

The woman gestured and the fire lept. Its burning heat on her face was welcome unlike the slimy hand of the ash adorned man at her elbow. She leaned closer to its core even as he pulled her back. The woman asked a question and one of the others who had dressed Aziraphale stepped forward. She tossed Aziraphale’s oilcloth satchel into the flames just as Aziraphale cried out.

“No!”

On the other side of the ash man, Ligur stepped forward with a sword and threw it into the blaze as well. Aziraphale distantly noticed herself weeping as the fire ate away at the oilcloth wrapped around her books and then greedily burned the parchment inside. 

“Aziraphale,” the snake woman spoke.

Aziraphale looked into her golden eyes. They seemed kind somehow, almost as if her sorrow was reflected there. Surely this was Crowley. Her voice rose again and then was drowned by the shouts of all those gathered around them. Children, women, and men all dancing exuberantly. 

Aziraphale cast her eyes back to her books, nothing more than char. She wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she was smaller, that she could sink into the earth or perhaps join her books in the flames. Ash man kissed her mouth and then lifted her off the ground and swung her about before turning around to join the dancing with those around him. Aziraphale stumbled away from him. The snake woman, Crowley, had disappeared and now there was only the bonfire to keep her company. 

Aziraphale wasn’t sure how long she had gazed into the flickering heat as she was jostled, but eventually the mood settled and she was guided back to the mare. She swayed on its back in exhaustion and somehow managed to maintain her seat all the way to a castle. It looked much like the one she had grown up in, tall stone turrets, strong walls, and a great iron gate. 

She recalled her mother’s voice chiding her for her posture and straightened as she was led through several drafty halls in the castle to a bedchamber. She closed her eyes tight when she heard the door shut after she’d been redressed, again by strangers, this time in night clothes, fully expecting to be in the company of her new husband. After three breaths of silence she opened them, her gaze darted about the room. She was alone.

He was coming later she supposed and she allowed herself to cringe at the thought. She looked around the chamber, it was more ornately dressed than hers had been at home. Fear coursed through her body when she toyed with the thought that this might be his bedchamber. Perhaps she would not even have her own room. She searched through the trunk and dressing table finding only feminine clothing and accessories, nothing to indicate that a man expected to spend any length of time in the room. That fright put to rest, she gathered a fur from atop the bed and wrapped it around herself before sitting on the floor in front of the door. She would not be snuck up on. 

Her head lay back against the heavy wooden door and her eyes blinked. They had never felt so heavy. As she slipped into sleep she thought she heard Ligur’s voice, speaking, strangely, in her mother tongue.

“I sacrifice your time to Bee enough as it is. I will not step aside in order to lend you to some weak princess.”

“I never expected you to,” 

The voices moved further away and Aziraphale succumbed to much needed rest. 

#

Aziraphale awoke as the birds began their morning song. Her back ached and her arse felt numb. She stood and stumbled to the bed, falling in an uncoordinated heap on the feather mattress. She was about to return to slumber when a voice startled her to complete rousal.

“Aziraphale, Princess.”

Aziraphale sat bolt upright. The snake woman stood in front of her. “How did you?” she asked. 

“Just, slithered under the door, yeah? Didn’t want to wake you.”

“I don’t-” Aziraphale cut herself off, she wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to say.

“I brought you something. Would’ve just left it with you but you’ll need to hide it,” she volunteered. 

“I-”

She presented Aziraphale with a bag much like the one that had been burned last night. Aziraphale took it hesitantly.

“I doubt many people use our library,” she said. “So you should be able to secure them there secretly and then bring them back as if they were in the castle the whole time.”

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. She scrambled at the fastening. Her books. They were here and whole. “How?” she asked, clutching them to her chest.

“Well I never meant for you to lose them,”

“Crowley?”

Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure what she was asking but she did want to confirm that it actually was her friend standing before her and that the priestess was not an apparition.

“Ngk.”

“I thought you were one of my people.” She let her satchel drop so that she only held onto it by a single strap. Crowley wasn’t looking directly at her, but rather somewhere over her shoulder into the distance.

“Err,” Crowley said and she sounded so much like herself that Aziraphale began to cry in relief.

“You scared me,” she scolded. “I couldn’t find you anywhere to tell you goodbye. You should have let me know that you were coming with me. Are you to be my Lady’s maid?”

“Princess,” Crowley shook her head and Aziraphale didn’t even have to imagine fondness in her gaze. “I’m a priestess here, I couldn't possibly stoop to dressing you daily, much as I might be- interested.” her finger trailed down the exposed skin at Aziraphale’s decollete. 

Aziraphale held her breath. The finger dropped. 

“Then what?” Aziraphale began, but she felt so mixed up. “Am I to endure being bed by that ashy frog of a man and not have your companionship as consolation?”

Crowley laughed, first a snigger that grew into a rolling sort of boom. “Lord Hastur, a frog” she gasped in between guffaws. “That suits him perfectly.” She reached out again and stroked a lock of Aziraphale’s hair out of her face. “Don’t worry, my Lady, your maidenhood is in no danger from your new husband. It is yours to keep. Unless you’d like to give it away.” As she spoke she drew even closer to Aziraphale and allowed her breath to skim, wet and hot on her cheek. Her forked tongue flicked out, tasting Aziraphale’s blush. “On the other hand, we will be able to spend as much time together as you wish.”

“I-” Aziraphale put her hand over her swiftly beating heart. 

“Think about it, Angel,” Crowley said before opening the door and stepping out of the room.

Aziraphale stood there for several minutes, her satchel dangling from one hand before she finally spurred herself to action. She tucked the books under the mattress and then lay down atop them. She wondered at the feeling of them, three hard lumps cushioned by feathers. Finally sleep overcame her and she dreamed of a snake with kind, golden eyes. 

Days passed and Aziraphale was not much closer to knowing her captors. Or- her new people? They felt like captors except for the lack of restraint around her movements. She hadn’t found Crowley anywhere, which was doubly frustrating after her promise of spending time with each other. In the morning she was dressed by lady’s maids - none of whom spoke her mother tongue - and shunted around the castle and the grounds, but generally able to go in any direction. 

She still hadn’t more than glimpsed her husband; he sat far from her at the head table during the nightly feasts where he seemed to consult with his aide-de-camp, Ligur. He had not yet visited her bed. She wasn’t sure if she should have been relieved or worried. Crowley had promised, but what really could she promise about the situation? Why hadn’t she seen her?

She had pieced together that Bee was the lady of the castle. Lady Beezelbub was Lord Hastur’s first wife though they seemed to hold less affection for each other than Aziraphale’s own parents. She had inferred that the people would take any cause to celebrate with drink, music, and dancing; that none of her lady’s maids expected her to learn the language which, while difficult, was not beyond comprehension. And finally, she learned that the grounds were sacred.

They were nice grounds, more beautiful even than her parents’ despite the barbarians only having settled here for three anums. The foliage was richly colored and flush with fauna. Aziraphale had seen more than one little black snake slither quickly out of sight as she took a turn around the gardens each morning and afternoon. One of her maids, Feidlimid pulled her away from the trees any time she tried to get close. She knew they weren’t poisonous, being much the same trees they had at home and thus she deduced they must be revered in some fashion.

Learning about a new culture and cataloguing all of the new literature she had access to might’ve been enough to make Aziraphale content if she’d been able to find Crowley in order to share all of her discoveries. By the fourth day she had convinced herself the entirety of her first night here has been a fever dream. Something deep behind her ribs longed for Crowley. She had felt wanted by Crowley, and so of course she had invented the whole thing. Truthfully she was nothing much, too strong to be properly feminine, too scholarly to be of any use during social gatherings, too indulgent to be suitably devout. Even her frog like husband avoided her company. Aziraphale was certain that Feidlimid attended her due to a lack of choice rather than desire. 

That evening she complained of a headache and dismissed her attendant early asking that the woman give her excuses at dinner. She sat cuddled under furs on the bed in her nightdress reading from one of the new books by candlelight - she had discovered that they were not rationed for her in her current station - when there was a knock at her door. 

“Enter.”

Crowley stepped inside and closed the door behind her, every bit as wild and majestic as she’d been stepping out of the fire in the wood. 

They stared at each other.

“I wanted to make sure you are in good health.”

“How dare you.”

“Forgive me I’ll just-” Crowley turned to leave.

“By the gods you will not.” Aziraphale set her book aside and climbed out of bed. She braced her feet against the cool stone floor and threw her shoulders back. Were she not so angry, Aziraphale might’ve laughed at Crowley hovering half way between the bed and the door. 

“What would you wish of me, My Lady?”

“I had thought you’d promised to see me as much as I liked.”

“W-” Crowley cocked her head to one side. She started to talk again but no sound left her mouth.

“Do you have an explanation?” 

“Well I-” Crowley stopped again, and then, “I uh- wanted to give you time to think about it?” 

“And how much time,” Aziraphale blinked her eyes and then looked up through her lashes, “did you suppose that I would need?” She took a step toward Crowley. “To think.”

Crowley took a step back and thumped into the door behind her. Aziraphale advanced on her, allowing her own hand to reach out this time, letting her fingers brush against the fabric of Crowley’s tunic.

“You- uh- deserved to be able to make your own choice, yeah? And I- uh-”

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, and then she brought their lips together. It was almost too warm each place they touched and yet she pushed closer trying to taste all of Crowley. After only a moment, they broke apart breathing heavily. “Please don’t leave me this time,” she whispered. 

“I never wanted to,” Crowley whispered back. “I only wanted you but I didn’t want to just take.” Her arms wrapped around Aziraphale and her head nestled in the crook where Aziraphale’s neck met her shoulder. 

Aziraphale squeezed her tight around her thin waist. “Come to bed now, won’t you Dear?”

And they spent the rest of the night renewing their acquaintance.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for taking the time to read this~!


End file.
